


Unpredictability

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is proven to be more reliable as a boyfriend than as a narrator. Carlos is proven wrong, and would not have it any other way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpredictability

Carlos used to have a hypothesis. Normally, he was all about experimentation, but sometimes, well. Maybe it wasn’t so much a hypothesis as an idea, and he just didn’t know how to frame it in personal terms, so as always, he relied on science.

The hypothesis was this: _if that radio host thinks you’re so perfect at a glance, then a longer look would ruin the picture. Or worse, solidify it, and then you’d never get anything done._ He was a scientist, and he had no time to climb up and down from pedestals.

So he didn’t think that they would, in scientific terms, work out. He thought the appeal would wear off, when he didn’t live up to whatever ideal was there. He thought the magic - such a terribly unscientific concept, anyway - would fade. Cecil would get bored, and honestly Carlos didn’t have the energy for even a clean breakup.

Carlos did not predict growing closer to Cecil, because this hypothesis didn’t account for genuine interest. He hadn’t considered the possibility of forgetting dates and events, and being told, _just call next time, okay?_ Though sometimes, quiet disappointment could be worse than shouting: _no, no, I wanted to do it with you. Can we reschedule?_

So they rescheduled, and Carlos made several notes, even jotting it down beside the science on his clipboard in the mornings. He remembered, and as long as he was there, Cecil listened to him talk about science. As things went on, sometimes they talked in more detail about goings-on at the lab, or what Carlos had made for dinner last night. The only scientifically accurate word for Cecil’s attitude toward these things was “enthralled.”

He listened to Cecil, too. Not to the news, not to the overenthusiastic but thoughtful Children’s Fun Fact Science corner, but to Cecil. As it turned out, he had many thoughts about theater and game shows and gourmet cooking, quite independent of government conditioning. He was also very into science, as he repeatedly informed the scientist.

They proceeded with the experiment. Carlos’ hypothesis hadn’t accounted for the evenings afterward, where they learned how to fit together. Their bodies were rounded, soft, but their bones were sharp. They tangled up in spaces that were too small, and they didn’t really care about how they were supposed to fit. If you love someone, you can forgive them the occasional accidental elbow in the side.

It hadn’t accounted for nights, long nights, spent together. Cecil asked him, _“hold me?”_ like he would accept a _“no,”_ if Carlos really didn’t want it. And then, Cecil would have rolled over in bed to try to hold himself together instead. But Carlos didn’t mind; he felt the opposite, scientifically speaking. He held Cecil, and that was the entire world - perhaps this defied science explanation, but it was all of the world that Carlos cared about, anyway. 

Cecil, close and warm. Skin rubbing against t-shirt rubbing against lightly starched lab coat. Cecil’s nose pressed into his chest, so that Carlos could feel it when his breathing finally began to quiet.

It hadn’t accounted for nights - nights Carlos knew were going to happen, nights that Carlos was sure would shatter that image when nothing else had - where he did not want to talk to anyone or about anything, and the inside of his skull could only be described in the unflattering terms of a cheese grater, sharp and rough and not something you wanted to rub your brain against.

But on those nights, Cecil did not talk about anything. Cecil understood the value of silence better than anyone would have imagined. He knew when not to touch, and he would sit there until Carlos had inched close enough to break the barrier he’d placed between them. Cecil would ease his hands under the scientist’s lab coat without removing it. Carlos would sigh, and nod, and try to sleep.

There were kisses exchanged, words spoken, thoughts unspoken, but felt in other ways.

Once, Carlos tried to make real, tasteless, invisible pie. It tasted a little like sugar, so, no, he didn’t quite have it down. But when Cecil kissed him afterward, there was a little of that flavor lingering, and it didn’t leave much room for regret.

Once, Cecil surprised him with a set of hand-woven beaker cozies, and while they were lovely, having yarn around objects that occasionally went over flame could pose more of an inconvenience than anything. Still, Carlos took one and used it, and that beaker he kept in a special spot near his work station. He would fidget with it while trying to work out a difficult problem. The yarn was thick, sturdy and good to twist in his hands. Cecil saw it when he came by, and smiled a little. Carlos assured him with absolute sincerity it benefited scientific progress.

So Carlos had to revise the hypothesis somewhat. After all, it definitely had not accounted for Cecil figuring out he was ticklish, and _no, hey, what are you doing, Cecil, Cecil,_ Ceec _, oh my god_. It did not account for Cecil having built up a tolerance to such stimuli himself, and so, rendering proper retaliation impossible.

This went on until it was less like an experiment, and more like a life. Hypothesis became theory, and theory became law: _when a scientist comes home to a radio host, that is love, scientifically speaking._


End file.
